To Be Espada
by Sinnatious
Summary: One-shot. Ulquiorra and Grimmjow have a difference of opinion when it comes to following Aizen. Pre-Hueco Mondo arc.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach or its characters. This story was written purely for enjoyment and no profit was made from it.

**Warning: **Violence and adult language (All Grimmjow's fault, really).

**Author's Note: **Prompt fill. Paraphrasing, the prompt was basically 'Ulquiorra and Grimmjow get into a fight over Aizen, make it angsty.' So what we have here is essentially a short fight scene scribble and nothing else.

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**To Be Espada**

By Sinnatious

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"It's disgusting. Have you all forgotten what it means to be a Hollow?"

Ulquiorra doesn't react to his taunt. The bastard _never_ reacts.

"Running after that guy like a bunch of lapdogs. It makes me sick."

Grimmjow scowls and kicks at a stray pebble – a bit of rubble from the last time Nnoitra got put in his place by Nel, probably. "Hey, are you fucking listening?"

Ulquiorra stops and turns. "Aizen-sama is worthy of our respect."

"Hell, he might be strong, but _he ain't a Hollow_." He slams his fists together a few times, relishing the smack of skin and bone, imagining his opponent's mask crushing between them. "All this crap about _making_ Arrancar and sitting in here _not _fighting – why the hell are we putting up with all this shit?"

All these damn newcomers, who don't even deserve to be _Numeros_, much less _Espada_. None of them earned it, none of them clawed their way to the top from _Gillian_ to _Adjucas_ to _Vasto Lorde_. Now there's a damn farce of a city in the middle of Hueco Mondo, with white buildings and a fake sky and actual _paths_ instead of endless dunes of sand.

"You have your orders," is all Ulquiorra says.

Grimmjow growls, and punches the wall. It fractures beneath his fist. "Don't you pull rank on me! I'm as strong as you are, and I'll prove it!"

The familiar form of _Pantera_ settles around him, and his body thrums with energy and power and he can practically feel a _cero_ crackling at his claw tips. He slashes, angrily, shredding the very air, burying his fingers in chips of rock.

Ulquiorra appears behind him, utterly nonplussed. "Keep overstepping your boundaries, and you'll find yourself no longer an _Espada_." He can't tell if it's a threat or a warning. Knowing Ulquiorra, it's probably both.

"Keep bowing down to some damn _Shinigami_, and you'll forget what it means to _be_ one!" He rips his claws through the wall, tearing towards his opponent. Ulquiorra vanishes again, and again, evading each strike by a hair's width.

Grimmjow laughs maniacally. "Running away, Ulquiorra? Oh, that's right – _Espada cuarta_ and above are _forbidden_ from releasing their _resurreccion _now, aren't they?" he taunts. "Well then, this is gonna be _easy_!"

He lets loose a _cero_, and the hallway bleeds with crimson light. The resulting explosion cracks like thunder, and the ground shudders under their feet.

This is fighting. _This_ is what being an _Espada_ should be about!

Ulquiorra emerges from the smoke, two fingers extended – countering _cero_ with _cero_. Grimmjow lunges towards him, nothing but a blur to any watching eyes.

His claws catch fabric, and skin, and _tear_.

He roars with victory at the slash – three bleeding stripes across the _cuarta Espada_'s abdomen. _First blood_!

The more rational part of his mind, not yet caught up in bloodlust, recognises the strike had been too easy – that Ulquiorra hadn't _bothered_ dodging.

And when he sees the slashes closing, almost as fast as he inflicted them, he realises why.

"Worthless trash," Ulquiorra says, then disappears.

The first blow slams against his back, makes him stumble. The next comes from the side, and leaves him reeling. One smashes into his stomach, and he nearly bites through his tongue. His _hierro_ holds, but he's tossed back and forth, bones shuddering under each strike, barely able to catch sight of his assailant in time to _register_ his presence, much less react.

Until the glow of a cero grows in his face, and Grimmjow is blasted into the wall.

Rock and plaster cracks and falls around him, and a slender, pale hand presses against his throat, pinning him to the wall. Dull, bored green eyes stare up at him.

"Do you have a problem with Aizen-sama's plans?"

"It's not fucking fair," he snarls – his words wet with his own blood, his bruised ribs shuddering painfully with every breath. "You're this strong, even without releasing your _resurreccion_, and you bow down to _that_?"

"Do you have a problem with Aizen-sama's plans?" Ulquiorra repeats, as monotonous as always.

Threats and taunts and arguments balance on the tip of his bleeding tongue, but Grimmjow shakes his head, and _Pantera_ recedes, leaving him bruised and tattered and humanoid once more. The _cuarta Espada_ lets him drop to the ground, sends him one last chilling glance in reproof, and strides away through the charred and crumbling hallway.

Ulquiorra is one damn cagey bastard. He was surprised, is all. How many Espada keep that kind of regeneration and speed? All the _sensible_ ones funnel that power into strength and new weapons as early as possible. After all, who needs to regenerate, if you're too powerful to even touch?

Next time, it'll go differently. He'll get stronger. He'll get stronger and stronger and stronger, and then he'll remind them _all_ what it means to truly be _Espada_.


End file.
